Words by Melissa Blease; production photographs by Manuel Harlan
Norwegian playwright Henrik (“the father of modern drama”) Ibsen’s 1891 drama Hedda is one of those late 19th century theatre-world behemoths that “everybody” is supposed to know all about – as in, “OMG, Ibsen’s Hedda! Powerful to the max!”
But a play with that kind of reputation can also be a victim of its own status, surrounded by a ring of fire so pedagogic that it becomes almost sacred. Am I clever enough to understand the layers of subtext that everybody else seems to know all about? Might it be a bit… y’know, “heavy”? What if I just don’t like it – does that mean I’m stupid?
Ditch the reservations!
Writer and director Matthew Dunster’s new adaptation of this venerable classic – a Theatre Royal Bath production starring Lily Allen in the title role – remains true to Ibsen’s original themes (the abuse of emotional and financial power; control and manipulation; toxic relationships; psychological anguish) but introduces us to a Hedda for a whole new generation influenced more by glossy Netflix domestic dramas than academic tracts-on-stage.
Anna Fleischle’s set and costume designs are as stylish as a Vogue Instagram post: a contempo-elegant oatmeal sofa, wafting ceiling-to-floor curtains, dozens of white lilies; heck, even the coffee cups make a mini-statement of their own (#Villeroy and Boch?). Hedda/Allen, meanwhile, owns her close up in every scene, whether wearing pyjamas (#Eberjey?) or chic shell top/silky Palazzo combos (#RalphLauren?) and impossibly high heels. She’s as impossibly, impeccably beautiful as she is impossibly, impeccably vile. Vile? Okay, here’s the backstory.
Left to right: Imogen Stubbs as Julia and Najla Andrade as Danni; Lily Allen as Hedda and Brendan Coyle as Brack
Spoilt to the point of ruination by her record label boss dad throughout her formative years, Hedda has grown up to be a vacuous, apathetic, incurious, dispassionate castigator; what her gentle academic new husband George sees in her – apart from infinite beauty and charisma, perhaps? – isn’t really clear.
But hey-ho, the couple have returned from a lengthy honeymoon to that magnificent apartment, which is funded by George’s formerly wealthy but now downtrodden aunt Julia and their rather sinister family friend and politician Brack (well, academics aren’t known for their high incomes, are they?). Hedda’s troubled mate Taya rocks up to join the non-party, and eventually, so does Jasper: another old friend of Hedda and George’s, also troubled, also… well, you’ll find out.
Left to right: Julia Chan as Taya and Ciaran Owens as George
It’s almost impossible to take your eyes off Hedda/Allen: she’s the archetypal love-to-hate-her anti-heroine, all vicious one-liners and off-hand gestures that say so much about her attitude towards other people (and, crucially, her deeply-embedded, cataclysmic neurosis) with so little apparent effort. But when you do manage to tear your attention away from her, Ciaran Owens as the stoic, obliging George evokes just the right amount of sympathy and frustration (oh for God’s sake George, just leave her!) to further emphasise his wife’s, erm, issues.
As Taya, Julia Chan, on her arrival, appears to be the biggest victim of Hedda’s fiendish influence to date: vulnerable, messy and bewildered, she’s unwittingly turned to the most unfettered anchor in the storm that is her life for a sense of security – if your heart doesn’t go out to Taya, you’re a Hedda in the making.
Elsewhere, Brendan Coyle (as saturnine family friend Brack), though clearly murky in his motivations from the off, doesn’t quite push the ‘menacing’ card as far as he could, and poor Julia (Imogen Stubbs) gets shoved into the shadows by the more prominent roles/personalities.
But oh lordy, Tom Austen’s Jasper – George’s academic nemesis, perhaps, and Hedda’s… well, you’ll find out – offers a compelling, brutally realistic portrait of a man locked deep inside a psychological torture chamber. He may initially appear to be channeling a mixture of artist Damian Hurst and Blur frontman Damon Albarn for character/style inspiration, but the shocking scenes towards the drama’s denouement, at once palpably poignant and high-voltage challenging, put Austen in the spotlight as an actor with exceptional aptitude.
Did I, even at the play’s stupefyingly startling end, feel sorry for Hedda? No; I felt sorry for the people who allowed themselves to be drawn into her selfish, (stylishly) monochromatic orbit. But hey, that’s just my opinion – go forth and make your own.
Ring of fire, layers of subtext – Ibsen trepidation? Ditch it all. This is Matthew Dunster’s Hedda: powerful to the max.
At the Ustinov Studio until Saturday 23 August; tickets here.